Hazel Eyes
by Shadowdib
Summary: Thirteen year old Jazz thinks things over a bit in the police station. Pre-Book one, a few hours after Lucky Day.


The chair in the police station was warm.

It wasn't that the chair itself was warm. It wasn't; it was a cold, cold metal, meant to make those waiting for sentences squirm and sweat. It was just that Jasper had been sitting in it so long that it had leeched out all of his body heat, leaving him hollow and icy.

The sheriff was still inside. He'd slammed Jasper into the chair over two hours ago. Jasper still heard echo of the handcuff clicks- one on his thin wrist and the other on the arm of the chair. For most thirteen year old boys, that would have been unbearable torture.

For Jasper, it was time to think.

Something had gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. They'd been found out, caught with hands soaked in blood.

The sounds of the police station were ticking on his nerves. Slowly. Slowly. A click of a pen from a secretary. The clack of keyboard keys. Blonde. Lean, yet short. Not much muscle. A good one, dad would say. And after all, weren't there enough blonde bimbo secretaries in the world? Nice and pretty and easy.

 _But never think it's too easy, Jasper. That's when they'll snap their jaws around your leg, catch you in the trap if you don't measure twice._

Two and a half hours ago, the sheriff had knocked on the door. Dad had always told him to be calm around cops, after all, so he barely reacted. The sheriff had cuffed Dad, then broken into the secret room and found Jasper holding one of the trophies. Two and a half hours ago, he'd been dragged like a ragdoll into the police car. He hadn't fought- he wasn't strong enough.

Yet.

What if he'd been? What if he'd snatched the knife from the case, carefully sliced, along sections A and C, pulled it all together into a bloody bow that would tighten around the man's neck?

Jasper couldn't dig deep down enough into his churning mind to figure out what he might've or mightn't have done.

He knew how, but knowing and doing were very different.

Inside the office, the sheriff let out a grunt, and for the hundredth time, Jasper squinted at the little nameplate outside the door.

 _G. William._

Too happy. 'G William' sounded more like a toy or puppet than a cop.

 _"How are you doing?"_

 _"Gee, William, I don't know!"_

Jasper fought back a giggle. He hadn't seen Dad yet, but he'd be along, that was sure.

After all, why go to all that trouble only to book the kid who hadn't done anything except what his father had commanded?

Jasper wondered if he should reveal the swiss army knife in his pocket. If the sheriff would just confiscate it before he could shove it through his eye socket.

Probably.

The secretary was still quietly taking notes on her keyboard. The quiet tick-tick was driving Jasper crazy. He wished he could just slice off her hands. That would stop the noise.

No, wait. That was probably wrong. No, it was fine, as long as she was away from others. Wasn't it? Thoughts dragged through his mind like they were clawing through quicksand- the more he tried to grasp for them, the more they slipped through his fingers. The handcuff made his wrist hurt, even loose as it was on his small hands.

A creaking from inside the office. The door opened, and Jasper took in the sheriff again. Large shape, with a huge mustache he had an insane urge to pull on.

"Kid. Jason-"

"Jasper." Stupid, stupid. An edge of condescension leaked into his tone, and he squashed it down flat.

"Right, Jasper." He knelt in front of Jasper's chair. "I'm gonna ask you one question, and I want you to answer honestly."

"Aren't you gonna read me my rights?" The man chuckled, but the sound was strained, as if there was a crack in the man's voice and psyche that was going to lead to a burst dam at the slightest misstep.

"Not tonight. Did you know about what your daddy was doing?" Jasper thought.

The man had hazel eyes. Like him. Not the icy blues of his father.

He liked hazel eyes.

Jasper thought harder for a moment, before swallowing back every harsh whisper and gloating cry his father had ever thrown at him, every warning of absolute secrecy.

He nodded.


End file.
